No Law, No Order
by aposse
Summary: In the fan fiction world, sexual tension between these partners is considered especially popular. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who indulge our fantasies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are smut stories.
1. Two

**No Law, No Order  
Author:** Coleen / aposse  
**Rating: **Hardcore M  
**Pairing:** The Brangelina of SVU, Bensler  
**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine. Stop depressing me.  
**Summary: **In the fan fiction world, sexual tension between these partners is considered especially popular. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who indulge our fantasies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are smut stories.

**Author's Note:** It will be updated when my muse is particularly dirty, so subscribe if you like what you see. A string of smutty one-shots in an entire file!

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**Two**

* * *

He doesn't remember much.

All he remembers is his hand on her ass and her hips grinding against his, and they've ended up here… wherever 'here' was. He's too busy trying to _not_ pop out of his pants to become aware of his surroundings, the desire only skyrocketing when wet lips mesh against his. He feels the gloss on them melting, rubbing off on him, causing resistance in their lingual dance, but that's not nearly enough for him to pull away.

Take a damn crow bar and you still wouldn't be able to break this deal.

Elliot doesn't know what's gotten into him. He hasn't consumed litres of alcohol for his motor skills to become one of a drunk, nor has he suffered from a concussion for stupidity to grace his words. What he remembers doing is talking. Well, not _talking_, but arguing. They were arguing over a case. As usual. He remembers things being thrown, in particular a stapler which (praise the Lord) missed him. He remembers getting cut from the folder she whipped in his direction, and he also remembers her laughing at that.

It's a blur from then on, and as he presses her up against cold plastic, he finally knows where they are.

The bathroom. It does explain the buzz he hears above him, even fluorescent lighting hitting this woman the right way. There is **no** flaw with her, and as his hands freely explore what's beneath the thin material, the bulge in his pants feel the same way.

Her exterior may emanate toughness, but _feeling_ it, feeling every inch of her body is a contradiction to that fact. She's hard with her words, but the moans he elicits from her are soft, gentle. Her actions are sharp, yet the hips that are hugged by her badge roll smoothly against his. And her _eyes_ – those eyes that can melt a perp with a glare now surrender to him, glazing over with need for his touch. Olivia Benson is one hell of a – is that a belly piercing? Elliot hears himself groan at his discovery. The warm metal is flicked by his finger, and he winces at the sudden surge of pain.

Then he remembers.

The paper cut. Or folder cut. The whatever cut.

The finger that would pull a trigger for any danger coming his way was bleeding, and Elliot remembers pulling it into his own touch, squeezing hard to stop the red from escaping. It cut him deep, and the presence of air stung it even more. Then he remembers her laugh dying, and a shadow covering the light from the lamp of his desk. He remembers the same woman (who now begs for his touch) pulling his finger away from him, nearer to her… her lips.

And then, when the pain of the cut mixed with the welcoming warmth of her mouth, he remembers one word crossing his mind: _fuck._

"Fuck." She mutters against his lips, feeling them tremble at his flick. His desires trample the small pain on his digits. "Not there." He hears a click behind them, the smooth hand locking the bathroom stall, eventually travelling up to move his away from the small ball.

"Is Olivia sensitive there?" He doesn't know when third person talk got hot (or if it ever was) during sex, but his partner doesn't seem to mind.

She moves his hand up higher. "I just-" she begins to pant when his hand cups her breast. "-got it pierced. It still hurts-_sss_" The little squeeze causes her hiss of pleasure.

"Oh, trust me." Elliot wraps his arms around her chest, pulling her forward to unhook her bra. "I'll make you hurt in other ways. Alex put you up to that?"

Olivia nods. She offers her help by peeling off the fabrics clinging to her curves, pulling them over her head. "She said it was a tattoo or this."

"And you chose the latter, _why?_"

"Do you honestly want a bible verse in your view when you take me from behind?"

God _no_. That would fuck with Elliot's morals… while he fucked his partner. "I never took you to be the religious type."

"I'm not." She bunches her skirt – this probably being the first time in _history _that he's seen her wear one of these to work – up to her waist, and wadda ya know?

Bare. Wet. Ready.

Figures she'd do this on the one day she wears a skirt and decides to fuck her partner of 12 years. Just figures. "Jesus Christ."

Her hands pull open his shirt. "I never took _you_ to be the religious type." Buttons bounce off the small space, and as Elliot helps with the rough removal of his clothing, he hangs the remnants(along with Olivia's bra and shirt) on the hook behind her, not caring about the future concern; he'll just cover it with his tie. Or something. Doesn't fucking matter. He's about to fuck his partner – 2012 could be happening and he still wouldn't give two shits.

"Religious in Catholicism? No. With your body? Yes."

That's all it takes for her to push him back on the toilet and straddle him. He feels her bare skin hovering over his, and it suddenly dawns on him of the absence of pants. Between worshipping the heaven he's been going in and out of the past few weeks and pulling out a condom, Olivia must've unbuckled his belt and dropped them to his ankles.

Either that or God must've really worked miracles; they've only got 10 minutes until their break is over.

It feels odd doing it here. They've managed to do it against her bookshelf, on his desk and against her fridge, and he finds _this_ odd? Something must be wrong with him; what more could he want from this woman than a good, thorough fuck? What could be more satisfying than hearing his name moaned against his lips or feeling the scratch of her nails on his back?

Apparently something. Then, when he feels something inside of him reach up, trying grab his attention at the question, a hand sliding down his stiffness distracts Elliot.

Olivia glides the thin layer onto him like she's done it a million times blindfolded. She's technically only done it sixteen times, and half of that was in the dark. "You don't," She stoops down, legs parting as she comes nearer, "know," Faintly glossed lips open to let in a breath, "how long," she begins to straddle him, "I've been waiting for," Hands gripped firmly on his shoulders, she hovers closer. "this."

And he's **in** her. She sinks down, and as her arms languidly wrap around his neck, a moan softly echoes in the bathroom.

_Fuck._

The irrevocable tingles that shoot down to his toes cause him to think of the word again. It causes him to think many things as his closed eyes shut harder from the pleasure. Of _her_. Of being_ in_ her. Of being _with_ her. She slowly rises up, then takes him in again as she sits back down onto his lap. Then she gets faster, and his cock throbs in painful, sporadic beats, the thumps in his head coinciding with the ones in his heart.

It feels good to have her close to him, hips now rolling forward, chest heaving for more air in a space so confined. Olivia unlocks the bend her arms are in and hangs off his neck, long hair cascading off bare shoulders and breasts bouncing in her rhythm. He's mesmerized by them – those nipples look as hard as rocks, even without his touch. Elliot takes one hand off her hip and grabs one into his mouth, trailing the other down between her legs. Olivia jerks forward when his hand swipes through her wet folds, and her strangled cry is muffled as she bites at his shoulder. When he flicks at the pink flesh he feels her hips drive into him, and when he does the combo of double-pleasure, trailing his tongue around the nipple in his mouth and rubbing at her nub, she nearly draws blood where her mouth rests, and the arm that "drapes" over him? They now have him in a death grip.

_That's it. Come closer_. Her touch drives him to his highs. Though they've never made _actual _conversation during intercourse, it never stops Elliot's mind from speaking to her body.

Disappointment tints through him as her hands break their lock around his neck, now beginning to push at the sides of the stall. She does her best to get around the flush and wraps her legs around his waist, tight.

They've never done this before.

Elliot goes a step further and gets up slightly. He takes his partner up off his lap, placing two firm hands on her ass. Then he pushes in, _hard_, and it causes her to scream, quickly muffling it with a kiss.

_Fuck._

He thinks again. That's what he's doing to her, right? Fucking. "Fuck, Elliot." His cock throbs at her words, the whine causing him to slam into her again and again. And again, he hears her voice, moaning out incoherency, coaxed with pleasure. "Eh-" He pushes in, "Li-" He pulls out nearly all the way, "Uhhhhht." Her brows furrow when he re-enters her slowly, lips in a snarl at his excruciating pace. "Mmm." She still holds herself up with the strength of her arms, and her head is now against the stall door, lolling listlessly from side to side.

"We have five minutes left." He presses his forehead to hers, resting as he's fully inside of her. "One or two. Your choice." His lips brush against swollen ones, "Your choice."

They have this system. Whether they're in a bed or on a break, wherever they fucked their system was applicable; whoever initiated the sex had the choice of how they would come. _One _meant it was a hard fuck – one where you'd slam into each other and scream to the heavens from the unbearable pleasure. _Two _was a gentle fuck – you'd move slowly. You'd move _together_, as one being, and you would come _together_.

Regardless of who initiated the sex or who would make the choice, the desire of release was always so thick that _one_ was always the answer. Sixteen times and counting.

Elliot hopes for another answer this time. As satisfying _one_ could be, he always wanted to know what _two_ would feel like, especially with her. Especially with Olivia. Her breathing is slower now, calmer. Her legs are beginning to loosen their grip on his waist, the sweat causing them to slide lower, and her arms now shake from withstanding the weight of her upper body for so long.

He pulls her closer as he crouches down to sit on the white seat. Elliot waits for an answer, and as the mouth opens, the voice that leaves it is not one he expects.

"Elliot, you in here?" Footsteps clap against the tiles, the creak of the bathroom door echoing along with the voice.

Her mouth shuts, his eyes widen, and both can feel the other's chest thump from panic. Olivia wraps her legs tight around him, hugging him tightly to prevent from letting any signs of her presence to become known.

"Elliot?" He hears the steps come closer. "Your break ended 10 minutes ago and we're back to the case. Captain's wondering why you're MIA." A knock penetrates through the stall door.

"I'm here, Fin." He tries not to sound terrified, knowing that if Fin peaked over or under the stall, the secret they'd been keeping would unravel.

Elliot pauses for a moment, trying to come up with an alternative, because truthfully, he **never** does the _other_ number two in public washrooms. He hasn't since '95 when a victim – unaware of her gang rape – became the killer, _convinced_ with the fact that she contracted HIV from sitting on her boyfriend's toilet seat. Justification already unrealistic (not to mention quite impossible), she failed to believe she was drugged and raped until months later when she found out she was pregnant. With her deceased boyfriend's _brother_.

Not that the case was the sole reason Elliot repelled from public washrooms. It was just… _another _reason why he didn't use them. It would cross off an apeshit lead if he were ever (hopefully not) in that situation. But the situation he was in now was worse, to an extent. The plastic door was the only barrier between the life he hid and the life he built, and it wasn't so thick.

Then he feels it. He feels two fingers press against his back, and eyes meet with his as the head pulls back. _Two_. Is that what she wanted to do? He mouths a question of reassurance, and the brown head nods. The softness her eyes melt with tells him she's sure.

"Just gimme some more time. I'm doing number two."

He hears the light laugh in the tough man's voice. "Alright, but I don't think Cap wants to know _that_ much. Where's Liv?"

Brown eyes continue to stare into blue, and Elliot senses panic about to emerge. He stops it. "Doing the same thing."

He hears muttering on the other side, most likely more words from Fin. Like he's listening though. He hears more words but they never really register in his mind, and as the bathroom door creaks once more – signalling the third party's leave – both sigh in relief.

"Well that ruined it." Olivia tries to slide off his lap; she's unsuccessful in her attempt as he holds her in place.

"_Two_?" He voices his question.

He senses a shift as her posture changes. "You had to say something, and I could see your whole life flashing before your eyes."

"Would you have said that even if Fin came in?"

Silence.

"No." Elliot feels himself sink. Today was just another fuck. Another romp in his partner's pants. Another fling added to this affair. "I would've said it tonight." Her continuation brings him back onto his feet and out of his head.

"Tonight?"

She nods, softly, nuzzling her head onto his neck. "Today's been 12 years since we became partners."

"You count the days?"

"Why do you think I wore a skirt?" He grins at her reasoning, and when his hands loosen around her body for her to think she could stand, he surprises her by lifting the both of them up against the stall door.

"What are you doing?"

"Why do we have to wait until tonight? Let's just do it here. Right now." He breathes the words onto her lips that were open in question. "Please, Liv." His hardness throbs painfully inside her heat.

"No, Elliot."

Seeing his words aren't doing any good, he lets his actions take over. Elliot pulls out slowly, causing her to moan to lengthen with the re-entrance of his size. He goes slower when he feels her leg hook around him and arms drape over his shoulder.

"No." Her words are in denial, but every action she does is accepting it. "Fuck me all you want," She holds back another moan, "but I am not making love to you until tonight."

Love. From her. That's what he needs. That's what he's needed all along.

"Do you promise me?" He tries not to sound vulnerable.

"I am not going to make love in a bathroom stall."

"Do you promise me?" He repeats.

"My bed."

"Do you promise me?"

She stops her avoidance for a moment, eyes staring past his face. "Tonight." She says. "I promise you we'll do it."

Elliot feels himself collapse into relief. "_Two_?"

"_Two._" The brown head nods, and as she unhooks her leg, feeling the warmth of arms wrap around him, he feels the heavy beats in her chest in a rhythm with his.

He'll _definitely _remember tonight.

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**Fin**  
I hoped you all liked the first installment to this series of smutty one-shots! Of course, I had to add _some_ love in there. Your kind reviews are greatly appreciated, and watch out for the second one coming soon!


	2. In Bloom

**In Bloom**

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She's always been stubborn – hard headed, even – but never as much as him. When Captain tells her she's off the case, she's off of it. A few attempts to stalk the suspect, but Elliot's done worse. He's relentless—something she can't match, like his hard headedness.

Speaking of _hard_.

"Jesus." She breathes out as he presses her up against the window, feeling the stiffness grinding against her hips.

No hardness can compare to this one, and nothing can ever arouse her more. She feels the cool tingle of ice ripple over her bare back, the heat she feels below a striking contrast. Olivia grabs a hold of the neck that cranes forward, forcing the mouth nibbling at her neck to stop, letting out a groan. She continues to work her fingers over the sore area, letting her fingers dance behind his ears.

It's Elliot's soft spot. It's the spot where she can always get him down to his knees, because somewhere during the process of his creation in his mother's womb, God decided he'd be a hard man to calm. If it wasn't already obvious, the man was hard in all places – in his physique, mind, emotions, words, down _there_. That one place behind his ears was like the button she had to press for the bomb to stop from exploding. But it wasn't like she could just all of a sudden start rubbing him there when his conversations got too heated with a perp.

Not only would the gesture receive odd looks, but it was sacred.

Only he lets her touch there, like he can with her—

Her breath hitches when his hands trail under her navel, her hips jerking back at the sensation. She's always been fascinated with his touch. At how he can be so rough with the job, but so gentle with her, like she's some sort of delicate flower. She's always hated degradation and the cautious handling some of her partners had treated her with, but Elliot doesn't do that. Every time he touches her, it's out of praise, appreciating the efforts they've made, telling her that he notices them and that he _sees_ her.

"Turn around." He says, and she does.

His orders don't offend her either. He knows that she hates losing control, only to the fact that she's afraid others won't steer in the direction she desires. He knows her enough to know that, and Olivia trusts him. She presses her hands flat against the window, and the city below her becomes blurry at the fog her hot breath creates. She trusts him enough to not let her fall.

She feels his hands trail up her thighs, over the curve of her bottom, fingers sticking in the waist of her pants. They circle around over around her hips all the way to the front, and he unbuttons them. Her head is resting against the glass, rolling it from left to right as her impatience kicks in. And something else.

Elliot unzips her, and when she feels the slight pull, signalling the end of the excruciatingly slow action, she sighs. "Elliot." She says his name in that way—the way in which he'll stop, his respect for her overriding his desires.

He backs away, arms sliding off with reluctance. When she turns around, the words in her eyes replace the unwillingness with worry. She sees him clench his fists and his body rock forward. He's trying not to come to her rescue.

This is when she always tells him to stop.

When she puts her shirt back on and he fixes his tie.

When they go back to work like nothing is happening between them.

But today is different. She blinks away the uncertainty visible to him, discreetly taking in a deep breath. Olivia nods. She nods a nod so slight that if he'd blinked, he wouldn't of have caught it. To her fortune, he doesn't, and his brows furrow for reassurance.

"Yes." She assures, and she takes a small step forward. When Elliot gives no indication that he agrees with her decision, she takes another one. Then another. She can feel her confidence shrinking, doing her best to not read his stillness for rejection.

"Olivia, a child died in your arms today, we can't do this now."

They've never spoken more than two words to each other. The majority of their speech were muffles, incoherent mumbles, grunts, _yes_, _no_, their names. Never had they made actual conversation when their bodies collided and their lips meshed. It was like an unwritten rule.

When the door is closed, so are mouths. The silence between them is a comfort. They never let their pain escape into the air innocent of chaos. They exchange it; through their touches, kisses, their long gazes. They once lay in bed, facing each other, barely holding hands as he brushed away her tears of guilt. The case in particular hit her hard—four dead women under the brutality of a powerful man. It made Olivia feel useless and afraid, and every tear she shed that day was for the women she couldn't save.

Today's case is worse.

Even thinking about it—thinking about the agony that child went through; giving him hope only to let him down… it makes her heart swell with fault. And this time, Elliot can't fix it. She won't let him.

"I'll stay tonight," he voices, and it pulls her from her notions. He's moved closer to her, so close that she can pull him into her world with a kiss. "But I won't go any further."

He places a hand on her shoulder, closer to her neck as he strokes it with a thumb, quite sure he can feel her pulse racing. Olivia tightens the purse on her lips. She wants to go further.

"We can't." He opposes. "You're mourning, and I respect you."

"Mourn with me."

She doesn't want to do it alone, and when she says the words aloud, he understands. Elliot understands that this is not a distraction but her form of grieving, of showing someone the love she couldn't to another. His thumb finds its way to her lips, and when he brushes it softly, she takes it into her mouth. She hears him whimper at her bravery. She makes the first move of intimacy, and he follows suit, his other hand finding its way behind her to unhook the clasp of her bra.

Elliot surrenders to the temptation of the soft flicks her tongue makes and replaces his thumb with his lips. He grabs a hold of her neck, cradling it as he dips it back, deepening their kiss.

She feels his hands run all over her body—from her back, to her ribs, caressing the soft weight of her breasts, all the way down to the insides of her thighs. Olivia feels him lift her up, and she hooks her legs around him, not once breaking their lingual dance. She doesn't know where they are in her apartment anymore. They're on something soft, that she's sure of. She allows him to take lead. The surprise is minimal when his clothes are on the floor along with her remaining garments, a minute not even passing.

He's Elliot fucking Stabler.

She is, though, surprised at his readiness. She feels his hardness against her bare skin for the first time, and she thinks of nothing more than wanting him, _needing_ him. So when he slowly pushes himself in, she lifts her hips up, and when her heat envelops him entirely, they both moan.

Hers was more like a groan.

Olivia wants more. More to take the pain away, and more to feel pleasure. More to forget the soreness her body is in, and more to remember just how good she can feel. She just wants more. Of him.

And he gives it to her.

Elliot continues to push in and pull out, his hands resting on the outsides of her arms. She watches him work, seeing the vein on his temple throb with each push and the corners of his mouth twitch involuntarily with pleasure when he pulls out. She can see him swallow with struggle, as if he's keeping down something he wants to say.

So she says it first, with a kiss. The harder he pushes in, the more the words beg to be said. The more he pants, the more she wants to say them. She knows the words won't justify how she feels, so she continues with saying it with her lips. His pounds now coinciding with the roughness of her kiss, she moans into his mouth, whimpering when he pulls out unexpectedly.

Elliot nearly breaks all contact, keeping only his hands slightly brushing against her hot skin. "I'm about to.." He trails off and his eyes avoid contact.

She says nothing. Olivia simply grabs a hold of his hips, pushing him in with the other hand, and before he can object, the slick, velvety, softness he settles in stops him. His hips begin to drive in again.

They don't kiss this time. He bends him arms and lays against her, and she feels every muscle of his body glisten with sweat. She closes her legs to keep him on her, the subconscious fear that he'll leave if she doesn't. As she tightens her grip around him, she can feel his breath begin to shorten, and in response she wraps her arms around him, digging her nails into his back.

He hisses.

It's not out of annoyance, but out of surprise. She closes her eyes, and when he moans her name, she can't help but whimper. And that's when her hips jerk forward and she joins him in his rhythm, whispering his name into his ear. And when his lips latch onto her neck, the lobe she flicks with her tongue is bitten.

And he yells, his hips pushing in deeper.

And she moans, lifting her hips higher.

Then she feels her whole body convulse, and his arms wrapping around her as if she's falling. She feels herself tremble with unmistakable bliss at the calling of her name.

She feels needed. She's given him what he's needed, and in return she's gotten what she's wanted. Forgiveness. Another chance.

She can feel his body draping against hers, tension leaving with each breath he exhales. Elliot's still on her, and the safety he provides, with protecting the vulnerability she's just released, overwhelms her. It makes her hold on tighter, like she did with that child in her arms. She holds on tighter for the sake of her well being. She can't lose him too.

Olivia hesitates when he tries to pull back. With a few attempts, she finally lets go, and his eyes are filled with an unrecognizable emotion when she looks into them. "I'm still here." He says.

That's all it takes for her to let go, completely. She unravels beneath him, and like a flower in bloom, she blossoms, the beauty of her vulnerability embraced by the warmth of his love.

* * *

**Fin**  
Well, it's taken months to update. I literally had several different storylines that contained smut, but none of them ever seemed good enough to post. Then tonight happened, and well, this was the outcome. A random burst of inspiration results in a new smutty fic! Well, it's not really smut, but you know,_ love_. Because that's what Elliot and Olivia are. _In love_. It's been a while since I've written anything for this fandom, so some feedback would be more than fantastic, and hopefully I didn't lose my ~touch~. Thanks for reading, I promise I won't take half a year to update, and your words would mean a lot :)


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